


All's Fair in Love and Pickpocketing

by ItWasPremeditated



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Not Hunters, Alternate Universe- No Supernatural, And Jess - Freeform, Complete, M/M, Maybe - Freeform, Not Beta Read, Smoking, alcohol mention, alcohol tw, as is bobby, blood tw, dean and cas are 25 ish, jo harvelle is mentioned, sam is 21 ish, some flowery language, stabbing tw, they are cute af, v gay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-01
Updated: 2016-06-01
Packaged: 2018-07-11 12:42:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7051948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ItWasPremeditated/pseuds/ItWasPremeditated
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel gets stabbed, and Dean may or may not be to blame. Sam is judging everybody. Sam is the grown-up here.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All's Fair in Love and Pickpocketing

Dean honestly didn’t know what he was doing walking the streets at three in the morning, but he wasn’t going back to the house right now. John had fucked off somewhere to indulge a burning desire to get too shit faced to have burning desires. Or brain cells. Or concerns about either of his son's well being. But John would remind Dean that that wasn't his business, so Dean tried to forget about it.

Sammy had a fever so high that Dean would say he’d been possessed by the devil if he thought the son of a bitch gave a fuck about mere mortals. He didn’t, so Dean just said Sam was really fucking sick instead. And of course, it’s been so long since being actually sick was a problem that, while there plenty of rolls of sterile-ish gauze and a pre-threaded needle or two lying around, could not be solved by the _Winchester Home Pharmacy_. So now Dean was wandering the streets of Lawrence, Kansas, trying to find a pharmacy that had shitty enough security to let him pocket a couple bottles of whatever the fuck would get Sammy to stop slow cooking.

His pockets had been woefully empty for far too long. He really needed to see if Bobby or Ellen would let him start picking up shifts again. Maybe Benny would give some of his hours up and take his girl out to the carnival he'd been talking about her wanting to go to.

He looked up when he heard someone talking, his thoughts interrupted by one side of a half-whispered argument, and caught sight of an unshaven man wearing a blue tie that had been tugged loose and a beige trench coat that brushed just past his knees. The new-comer was murmuring into his cell phone. He looked like a business man. He also looked like the kind of guy who carried cash on him, and Dean decided he’d take the chance. Worst case, he’d grabbed some useless chunk of leather he could deposit on the sidewalk.

He bumped into the guy, reaching his hand into a coat pocket and shoving the wallet he found into his own pocket.  The man stumbled slightly, but quickly regained balance. Now was when all that time wasted as a “patron of the arts” back in highschool came into play.

“Oh, shit man. I’m sorry. You okay?” He shot a concerned look at the guy he’d bumped into as he bent down to pick up the cell phone he’d knocked out of trench-coat-dude’s grasp. He snorted when it turned out to be a flip phone. He was pretty sure flip phones had been left in the 00’s with frosted tips and bootcuts, but what did he know?

Probably not a lot, actually.

“I’m fine. Thank you.” The man responded, and Dean was caught off guard by how deep that voice was. It was impressive, and if Sam weren’t trying his best to end up in a hospital or a morgue, Dean would probably be all over this guy, but right now he had places to go and Sams to mother hen. He’d also just stolen his wallet. Dean had a feeling there were ethical codes that said fucking him at this point was wrong. Dean, contrary to some beliefs, had morals. They were grey, but they were there.

Dean nodded in response once he’d finally snapped himself out of the haze that had had him staring and started walking off. “Good. Sorry again!” And then he was off, turning into a leather-clad blur as he ran down the street and towards the twenty-four hour pharmacy. He slowed down bit when the neon sign came into sight, easing into a confident stroll and pasting an easy grin on his face to make sure no one shot questions he wouldn’t want to answer his way.

He walked in the door, winking at the clerk who looked up when the bell over the door announced his arrival with a high pitched chime. She ducked her head in response, probably trying to hide the blush that had dusted her rounded cheeks. Dean didn’t blame her. He’d blush if a hot guy winked at him too.

He made a beeline for the back of the store and stared at the bottles and the boxes that held bottles. He was an art hoe in school, and this really wasn't his thing. Basic first aid? Sure. Memorizing a dictionary made for pill poppers and the suppliers? Not so much. He frowned a bit at the assorted colourful labels, then put his hands together in front of his chest and turned his eyes upwards.

“Late night Dr. Sexy marathons, please don’t fail me now,” then grabbed a pink box of liquid acetaminophen and a box of dramamine tablets for when Sammy finally woke the fuck up.

Medication in hand, he headed over to the register and deposited the items he’d grabbed on the counter. He smiled at the cashier as she ran the boxes over the barcode scanner and was mildly amused at how she had to clear her throat before she asked him if that was all. He opened the guy's wallet and tried to stop his eyes from widening. The guy was fucking loaded. He was either a big-time drug dealer or just big-time. He kinda hoped that this ordeal didn’t end up biting him in the ass. He liked his ass how it  was.

Dean threw a fifty on the counter and headed out the door. The bells tied over the jamb rang again, signaling that he had, indeed, left the premises. Dean thought it was nice that the bells gave everyone’s movements such a fanfare.

He broke out into a run as soon as he had passed the building that housed the pharmacy, the need to get back to Sam urgently pressing at the back of his mind. Until he heard some guy shouting “Don’t fucking lie to me! Are you fucking stupid? I’ve got a goddamn knife!”

He would have kept going, but he heard that voice shoot back, “I’m not lying,  you are yelling, though.”

The only thing he could think was, “Oh my god, this asshole’s gonna get himself killed.”

He swore to himself as he saw the man reach out and plunge the knife through that horrendous beige coat and run off through the opposite end of the alleyway. He didn’t stop swearing until he reached the man’s slumped over form and cut the stream off with a muttered, “holy fucking hell.”

The man looked up and into Dean’s eyes. “Oh. It’s you.”

“Yeah. Hi.” Dean raised an eyebrow. “You okay?”

“This is worse than it looks.” He waved a hand in the general direction of the wound. Dean felt a bit uncomfortable with how red that hand was.

“Dude. You need stitches, holy shit. And whiskey.” He looked at the blooming patch of heavy red colouring the man’s abdomen. “Like right now. Can you stand?”

The man placed his palms on the cement and pushed against it, stumbling as soon as he had gotten to his feet. Dean lunged forward and caught him, his hand wrapping around his waist and carefully avoiding the wound.

“Headquarters is maybe two blocks. You down for walking?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“Good question. You really don’t. We don’t have time for alternatives and the hospital’s a no-fly zone, man. They stay full up, and the cops know me. They're gonna say I stabbed you, no matter what you say. I mean, I could carry you.”

The man looked uneasy at the suggestion, so Dean readjusted his arm and started walking, carrying a majority of the man’s weight himself. He’d meant it when he said that the man didn’t get a choice right now.

They walked in silence, barring the hisses that occasionally came from trench-coat-man’s side of the four legged beast and the quiet curses that came from Dean’s. They reached the house in a little under ten minutes,  Dean felt a surprising high amount of relief as he glanced at the porch guardrail he’d had yet to replace. He’d only ever been this elated to see the patchy driveway and ever-flickering porch light twice before. He looked over and took note of just how well his company was holding up considering the whole stabbing thing. It was just a little bit impressive.

“I’m in the first room. It’s a couple dozen more feet and we’re golden.”

Cas nodded in acknowledgment, and they resumed walking. They reached the door at a racing snails pace, and Dean only fumbled with the keys for a second before throwing the door open and depositing the man on his bed.

“I’ll get you in a minute. Samantha here needs this,” he shook the box of acetaminophen helpfully, “before his brain roasts. That’d be a real tragedy, cause I got all the looks.”

The man just tilted his head to the left owlishly. Dean elected to ignore him and left the room, rushing down the hall and into Sammy’s bedroom. He poured the medication into the little plastic cup that saw stuck on the lid of the bottle and started pouring syrupy liquid down Sam’s throat. Satisfied that Sam had swallowed at least ninety percent of what he’d poured out, Dean replaced the cold compress he’d left on his brother’s forehead before he'd left with a new one.

He fell back against the wall, focusing on the most obvious evidence of the peeling that had started to separate the wallpaper from the off-white beneath it..He closed his eyes. He breathed out through his nose, steady and heavy, and then inhale, his lungs over-inflating and pushing against his ribs. His hand came up to his hairline and tugged the blond spikes back. He breathed out again.

Dean turned, pushing himself off the wall with his palms, and left the room. He let his hand drag across the wall as he made his way back down the dimly lit hallway. His arms came up and crossed themselves across his chest as he neared his bedroom once more. He leaned against the dark wood that framed his doorway and eyed the man who still sat his bed. He was haloed by the light that had come in through the window.

Dean took a deep breathe in. He exhaled.

“Okay, so I really need to get a look at this. Can you strip down?”

The man nodded and began unbuttoning his shirt unceremoniously. Dean had had him pegged for one of those “Jesus likes celibacy,” good catholic boy, prudish types, so he was a little surprised at the lack of fanfare. He was immediately distracted from his amusement by the exposed wound. He had a rosary the same red as his blood hanging around his neck. It was beautiful.

Dean wanted a pencil. He reached for the whiskey.

“Shit. That looks fun.” His hand closed the nearest bottle’s mouth. He took a swig and stepped forward to  hand it to the man.

“Drink that.”

He fixed Dean with an unimpressed look before downing a drag of the whiskey. He handed the bottle back to Dean, who took another gulp from the bottle before turning it ass-end-up over the man’s exposed abdomen. The man showed his lack of appreciation through a groan, but stayed still nonetheless.

“Okay. Stitches. These are always fun.” He dug around in the first aid kit he'd materialized out of nothingness and produced a threaded needle.  He leaned  over, lining the needle up with the left end of the wound.

Dean looked up and took note of the face what's-his-name was making. He looked uncomfortable, but not like he was on the verge of death. Then Dean realized that he had been using vague titles to refer to someone he was moments away from putting a needle in. That was a first.

“Shit. Dude, I’ve got a needle up against your stomach and I don’t even know your name.”

He seemed about as amused as someone who’d just been stabbed could manage to be when he responded with, “It’s Castiel.”

“Like an angel? Too long. You’re Cas now. Okay, Cas, deep breaths. Don’t scream.”

Cas sucked in all the air that was suspended in the room, his ribcage sifting as he inhaled, and stayed silent except for his ragged breathing as Dean worked through the stitches. He flinched and hissed when Dean put the bandage over the wound, but fell silent again after that.

“Alright. All done. I suggest you get some sleep. You take my bed. I’m going to clean this up,” He grabbed the blood soaked shirt and coat as he stood. “I’ll go put the coat in some cold water, but the shirt’s done man. If you’re cold or whatever, grab one of my shirts.”

He retreated to the bathroom and dropped the shirt in the trash can. He turned the sink’s tap on and held the coat under the water, watching it drip away pink. He scrubbed over the stain with a small bar of hotel soap and  dropped it into the sink, letting the basin fill with water before the shut the tap.

“Good enough.” He reached over his head and grabbed the neck of his t-shirt, tugging it over his head and depositing it on the cold linoleum floor. The situation was totally fucked, and someone else was in his bed, so he was going to have to sleep in the grody pink armchair. He brushed his teeth and then internally groaned before turning to spit into the toilet. He took the opportunity to relieve his bladder and pissed into the porceline bowl before hitting the silver lever with his foot.

He plopped down in the chair and rolled his neck, wincing as a loud pop sounded. His eyes fell on Cas, and they stayed there. The man had procured one of Dean’s lovingly faded ACDC t-shirts before falling into bed. The shirt had ridden up some, exposing a corner of the stark white bandage and hip bones. His hair was even more mussed now than it had been earlier, and all Dean’s brain was supplying him with was, “sex hair.” His eyes were closed, but his mouth had parted slightly, and he was murmuring quietly.  Dean’s gaze stayed leveled at his lips, watching them move as he drifted off the plane of consciousness.

 

⎧ᴿᴵᴾ⎫✿⎧ᴿᴵᴾ⎫✿⎧ᴿᴵᴾ⎫

Dean woke up to the sound of the shower head sputtering to life. He squinted his eyes in defense against the strips of orange sunlight that the shitty plastic blinds allowed into the room. He stood and bent backwards, sighing in satisfaction as his spine cracked back into place.

He heard the shower head cut off, and Sam had walked out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist a few seconds later.

“What time is it?”

Sam’s head whipped around. “Dean, Hey! Uhm,” He grabbed his phone and glanced at the screen, “It’s almost noon.” He glanced down at Cas, his forehead creasing like it always did.

“Why the fuck is there a hot guy in your bed when you're not in your bed?”

Dean snorted, a short burst of laughter that ended as quickly as it had started. “He’s sleeping.”

Sam fixed one of his all-powerful, I am unimpressed with you and everything you choose to be in life bitchfaces. “Really, Dean?”

“He got stabbed, and it’s mostly my fault.”

“What the fuck, Dean.” Sam's bitch face had intensified, the crease in between his eyebrows deepening into a canyon.

“Look, I don't really know how much you remember from last night, but you were doing your best impression of a side of beef left in a slow cooker, so I had to fix it.”

“Dean-”

“Don't “ Dean” me. I took his wallet, that's all. Some dumb fuck in a balaclava stabbed him, not me.”

“It was too dumb fucks, actually.”

Dean startled and turned around. “Cas, hey. Morning.”

“Good morning to you as well, Dean.” Castiel seemed like he was on the verge of smirking when he replied, but Dean knew he could’ve been seeing things, so he kept his mouth shut.

Sam snorted and tugged on a pair of jeans. “I'm gonna go get breakfast. You guys want anything?”

“Get us pie, Sammy!”

Sam waved his hand over his head as he walked through the door. “Yeah, yeah. Pie. I hear ya’.”

“So, Cas…”

Castiel interrupted with, “Was he your brother?”

“Sammy? Yeah. He's a good kid. Harvard bound.”

“Are you his guardian?”

“Oh, hell no. Our dad's around somewhere. Probably at the roadhouse, actually.”

Castiel didn't respond to Dean. His head tilted to the side a bit as if he were trying to get a new perspective on a difficult puzzle.

Dean thought, “He really does look like an owl when he does that.” Castiel had yet to blink. “Or like a cat.” His mind supplemented helpfully. “It’s kind of adorable.” Okay, his mind needed to shut the fuck up now. Fucking was unethical.

“Do you have anywhere you need to be?”

Castiel stood up. “I do not. Is that the bathroom?”

“Yeah. Towels are in the cupboard.”

“Thank you.”

Dean sighed and fell back onto the bed, falling asleep again almost as soon as his back hit the mattress.

⎧ᴿᴵᴾ⎫✿⎧ᴿᴵᴾ⎫✿⎧ᴿᴵᴾ⎫

Dean opened his eyes slowly, his hand shooting up to shield his eyes from the streams of sun that were coming in through the blind. Sometimes he really wanted to fucking fight the sun.

He’d have to ask Garth and Charlie if that was possible next time they hung out together.

“- But he works down at Singer Auto Salvage Yard when Bobby’s got hours to give him. Ellen lets him pick up shifts at the Roadhouse too when business actually picks up for her and-”

“Samantha, you’re gonna talk his ear off. You’re not even going at it with an interesting subject.”

Sam pursed his lips and raised his eyebrows, staring at Dean for a moment before his eyes widened. “Oh! Yeah! I got your pie.”

Dean smiled and stood up. “Alright, budge over, you jolly green giant. Let me get to that pie.”

Sam scoffed, but scooted his chair to the left so that dean could pull the armchair he’d slept in over to the table.

“Alright. What kind of pie is it?”

“Apple.”

“Sammy, you’re the best. If we weren’t brothers, the idea didn’t make me want to puke, and you weren’t currently dating someone who actually scares me a little but, I’d marry you.”

“Ruby’s harmless.”

“Ruby once threatened to kill me with a corkscrew. I believed her.”

“She’s just protective.”

Castiel coughed, and Sam and Dean both turned their attention to him. “This Ruby wouldn’t happen to have a friend named Meg Masters, would she?”

“Uh, yeah. They’re best friends. Why?” Sam answered after a second.

“No, not “best friends.” They’re fucking. Long term.”

Dean winced. “Jesus. Rip the bandage off, Cas.”

Sam just stood up and walked out the door. Dean watched him go.

Castiel looked a bit guilty when Dean turned his attention back towards him. “I apologize for causing your brother discomfort.”

“Dude, no. Trust me. He wants to know.”

The room fell silent, so Dean took a large bite of his pie and chewed while he thought about what to do next. He swallowed and thanked the one true god, Joss Whedon.

“Alright. Do you wanna to watch a movie? I got Star Wars, the Star Trek movies, AOS and TOS, and I got the Princess Bride.”

“I have never seen those films.”

“Which ones?”

“Any of them.”

Dean whistled, a low note that came out clean-cut and steady. “Alright, man, you’re missing out. Were going to start with the Princess Bride, since that’ll take less time.”

⎧ᴿᴵᴾ⎫✿⎧ᴿᴵᴾ⎫✿⎧ᴿᴵᴾ⎫

Sam stumbled in almost ten hours later, at nine, interrupting the closing credits of _The Return of the Jedi_. Benny was supporting him, his arm under Sam’s and wrapped around his back in an attempt to keep him from toppling over. Dean rushed over and looped his arm around Sam’s exposed side. Together they maneuvered around the coach, down the narrow hallway and dropped him onto his bed.

They left the room, Dean pulling the door to behind him, and started making their way slowly towards the living room.”

“Not that I’m complaining, but how’d you get Sam.”

“His girl picked up his phone and called the first contact she saw. Happened to be me.”

Dean nodded. “What’d this girl look like?

“Blonde. Pretty little thing. She likes the smurfs.”

There was a moment of silence. Benny’s gaze flicked over to Castiel before meeting Dean’s eyes.

“What’s up with the pretty boy, brother? Replacing me that fast?”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Ain’t nobody gonna replace you, Benny. He's Cas. I got him stabbed, so he’s chilling here so I can watch the stitches.”

“The old Winchester Whiskey and White Gauze treatment, huh?”

“We Winchester’s are one trick ponies, you know that Benny.”

Benny shook his head and grinned. “I don’t know if I’d say that, having had you in my bed.”

“Not enough people who’ve been in my bed know my name well enough to argue, and I trust you not to ruin my reputation.”

Benny raised his eyebrows, but nodded. “ Fair enough. I gotta get back to the Roadhouse. Ellen told me to be back within the next hour. She said you can pick up a shift tomorrow. Jo’s got a hot date, so it’ll just me working the bar otherwise.”

“Tell her I’ll be there by six. I gotta make sure he get’s home tomorrow.”

Benny leaned in closer. “You like him?”

“He’s got a rosary.”

“And you got a Saint Jude Medallion. Don’t mean shit. Besides, worst case, he’s catholic. You lot internalize that guilt shit, so he ain’t gonna hate you for it.”

Dean exhaled, his eyes fluttering shut for a second.

Benny stood up and walked over to the coach. “Hey, Cas? Take care of Dean-o for me, yeah? He ain’t gonna do it himself and Sam’s too busy being a nerd.”

Castiel narrowed his eyes again, staring at Benny with the same intensity he used on Dean, and for a second, Dean thought he might burst into flames. Then he nodded.

Benny walked out the door without another word, whistling his way down the sidewalk.

⎧ᴿᴵᴾ⎫✿⎧ᴿᴵᴾ⎫✿⎧ᴿᴵᴾ⎫

“Shit. What time is it.”

“It’s binge drinking is bad for people who just came off of juice-cleanses o’clock in the morning. I bet you’re in hell right now.” Dean pressed a glass of water into Sam’s left hand and dropped two aspirin in his right. “You know what to do. I suggest you get a shower too.”

Sam nodded an affirmative, popped the pills in his mouth, down the glass, and made his way to the bathroom.

Castiel chose the moment the door clicked shut to pop into a sitting position. He blinked blearily, and Dean would have called himself a liar if he’d tried to deny he found the face Castiel was making both adorable and totally hilarious. Castiel tilted his head side to side, left then right, and the motion elicited a symphony of loud pops from his spine.

“Shit, Cas. Your bones popping back into place?”

Castiel turned his head towards Dean, his head swiveling on his neck. “I do not know. I certainly hope they weren’t out of place.”

Dean huffed a minuscule, breathy laugh and grabbed his jacket. “You smoke?”

Castiel raised an eyebrow. “Yes, occasionally.”

“Do you want one?” He pushed his right arm through the leather sleeve.

Castiel nodded. “That sounds like a marvelous idea.”

Dean shrugged his shoulders once his hand had emerged from the cuff of his left sleeve. He started towards the hollow wood door. Cas wasn’t following him. “Are you coming?”

Castiel hopped up in a way that Dean would have called puppy-ish had it not been such a graceful movement. When the door clicked closed behind his he shook the white and green carton in Castiel's’ direction. Castiel grabbed one and let it hang from his lips, the end of it dropping down towards Dean’s silver lighter.

Castiel breathed in, taking a long drag of the cigarette, and exhaled nice and slow. Dean watched the steady stream of smoke pass through his chapped lips. Castiel fell against the brick of the wall behind them and put the cigarette back in between his lips.

“Oh thank God,” he whispered.  He sounded like he was actually praying, and Dean envied God for a moment that lasted far too long.

Dean laughed away the slightly green feeling that thought had left him with. Castiel looked at him oddly, inspecting him all over again. “You been jonesin’?”

“You have no idea.” Castiel’s voice had regained that deep and even quality he’d had even when Dean had mixed the whiskey with his blood. Dean felt his chest deflate, and he nodded in understanding.

“I feel you, man. Dad ain’t too big on these things anyways.”

Castiel turned his attention back to Dean. His edges looked vague behind the thin veil of smoke they’d breathed into existence. He looked ethereal. He had that curious expression on again, and all Dean could think was that it deserved to be immortalized on some kind of paper somewhere. Dean’s hand itched for a pencil all over again.

Castiel said, “I get the feeling he doesn’t approve of much, Dean.”

He said the words softly, as if we’re trying to soften the blow they would deliver. They sounded like the kind of thing an angel would whisper into his ear spoken like that. It was too bad Dean’s love for angels had shriveled up into something dry and wrinkled. All the same, Dean felt the truth lay on his shoulders and slip onto his tongue. It must’ve been how holy the whole thing felt. How absolutely divine Castiel seemed. The man could have called himself God, and Dean would have burned every tome written in the name of science and worshipped him with the same kind of zeal that those Westboro fuckers possessed. Dean was likely to worship the man anyways.  Dean whispered back, his voice a touch more gravely than it normally was, “Yeah. Well, blood’s blood until they spill the wine or you learn to walk on water.”

“I bet you could walk on water if you tried.”

“Careful. I took you for a catholic boy, and you’re sure to get into sinning with a mouth like that saying words like those.”

“I’m pretty sure we catholic boys confess for a reason.”

They were too close together now. Dean could see the vessels in the corners of Castiel bright-ass eyes. Dean was leaning closer anyways. Their lungs filled with the smoke screen they’d put up between them and reality at the same time. They exhaled ash into each other’s mouths. Castiel kissed like a man who hadn’t known love and lust and primal carnality until a moment before the one he was in. Dean kissed the way men who lived at sea did. He made a map of Castiel’s mouth. Every corner was well plotted. Every texture noted. They pulled away flushed pink and gasping. Their chests rose and fell heavily in time with each other. Inhale. Exhale. Smile. Inhale. Exhale.

“Well, that was fun.” Dean broke the silence, and the enchantment they’d been entombed in first.

Cas stared at a spot just below Dean’s left eye for a moment before he came out of his own haze. “Oh, yes.”

‘If you go and tell another man he’s Jesus, are you the new pariah?”

“At the moment,” Castiel’s eyes flicked down to Dean’s lips, his own stretching to match the easy smile Dean was displaying, “ I think that I’m finding it hard to give a fuck.”

⎧ᴿᴵᴾ⎫✿⎧ᴿᴵᴾ⎫✿⎧ᴿᴵᴾ⎫

“Dean? Dean! DEAN!’” Dean sat up quickly, his eyes scanning over the room for threats. Sam cleared his throat and Dean focused his attention on him.

“What the fuck Sam.”

“Why is there bed-sharing occurring? Why is it occurring with the _guy who has stitches_?”

Dean looked over to Castiel. He was wearing another borrowed t-shirt that came down to his thighs. His oil-slick black hair had gotten even more mussed in his sleep. Dean wondered why he could never locate a fucking pencil.

“Relax, dude. It's just sleeping.”

“Oh god. You're gonna end up with him. You probably abstained because he has stitches you can't pull. Jesus fucking Christ, Dean.”

“Sshhhh. He's _asleep_ , Samantha.”

Sam rolled his eyes and said, “At least let him take his stitches out before you two decide to go at it like rabbits.”

Dean “Yessir. Can I sleep now?”

Sam scoffed and then glanced back at Castiel. “Put a blanket on him. It’s fucking cold.” Sam huffed again and left, pulling the door shut behind him with a gentle click.

Dean looked back over at Castiel, his vision still blurry from sleep, and grinned. He threw a gryffindor blanket over Castiel and fell back onto his pillow. He fell asleep with his lips still curved upwards at the edges.

⎧ᴿᴵᴾ⎫✿⎧ᴿᴵᴾ⎫✿⎧ᴿᴵᴾ⎫

Castiel woke to the sound of birds being much too chipper. He listened for a moment, cataloging the bright notes the creatures emitted, before he opened his eyes. The stream of light that hit his eyes was offensive, so he turned his head away from the wall. He came face to face with Dean.

Dean’s eyes were closed, his eyelashes spilling over his cheeks in feathery lines. Castiel watched his mouth moved as he mumbled something quiet and indistinguishable that had bled out from his dreams. It sounded urgent and breathless. Castiel wished he could have heard what Dean had said.

It didn’t matter what he wished; the words had been lost, burnt up to a crisp in the streams of light that made parallel bars across the bed.

Castiel tore his eyes from Dean and let his gaze wander around Dean’s bedroom. The room was tidy to an almost military precision. He found it endearing, and was greatly amused by the posters that had been tacked to the wall. There were a few band posters that looked old and slightly discoloured that had been neatly tacked up and a few posters for films and television that cas wasn’t familiar with. He was pretty sure that if he stuck around and assimilated himself into the strange unit Dean had built around himself that’d he’d learn what the posters were references too. He wasn’t sure if he minded the idea of that.

Dean shifted, letting out a low groan as he pushed his arms back, groaning again in satisfaction at the series of cracks that sounded before he looked at Castiel.

“Hey.”

Castiel grinned slightly. “Hello, Dean.”

Dean pushed himself up into a sitting position, leaning back heavily on his arms. Castiel was momentarily mesmerized by the way Dean’s fingers splayed out over the bed sheets.

“Do you know what time it is?”

“No, I do not.”

“I’ve decided it’s breakfast time.”

“Is it?”

“Yeah. It is.”

Dean surged forward and kissed him, their lips meeting and clashing together. Dean’s hand found it’s way onto Castiel’s, covering it and lacing their fingers together.

Their eye’s found each other’s next, gazes meeting up and locking onto each other heatedly. Dean found depth in Castiel’s eyes; it was like being three and staring out into the ocean you’d waded into, wondering what was in the bottom of those vast depths. Dean wanted to swim in those depths. He stared instead.

Castiel found that looking at Dean’s eyes felt the way the forest felt just after dawn, when the mornings still felt secret and sacred and mist hung in the air, blurring together all the colours that God had painted with. He wanted to know what those forests held.

Castiel surged forward and kissed Dean again, smiling as Dean tugged at his lip.

They both knew they had more time than they needed to learn what mysteries oceans and forests carried within themselves.

**Author's Note:**

> I had fun with this. Hope you enjoyed. Feedback is appreciated, but if you don' want to, I can't do shit about it.  
> Kind of a WIP since I may come back later and work on it.  
> Thanks for your time.


End file.
